Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
I know
You need just
A shoulder to cry on

And I am
Sorry I am not
Obliged

Mine
Are already
Burdened enough

From
Paying homage
To your shrine


Today you may see
Fire,
And smoke,
And ashes galore

But know this;
When they clear
I will be
Here no more
Sometimes it's best to walk away without a goodbye.
You have been my shadow
Cast on a distant wall
I have danced as your echo
We have shared a single soul

Often I've wished you nearer
Always I've wanted to know
How you made of me a believer
Why I've never let you go

My head says you were ever
Always worth the knowing
And my heart says, still together
We could get to where we're going

Your Life is all beginnings now
Honestly you have my blessings
I see you looking back and know
What we know has no ending
dmeade Jan 22
it comes to me like a dream
why all my words
are cloudy with smoke and doused in liquor
why my love letters are blurry and blue
They’re about you

why every smile feels like a knife
and every kiss feels like the last
It’s because I know
and you know
It is.

I fell in love with you because of the smoke and the silence and the kisses.
I lost you to the dawn, rosy fingered and bright
Wide eyes and happy smiles
She was everything I wasn’t
But I still love you

And it still hurts.

d.m
cursedreveries Dec 2018
oftentimes, darling, oftentimes—
i tumble down the stairs and
even flat grounds, with a noise
of childlike snivel upon seeing
myriad passers-by walk ever so
gracefully—my eyes green and
my soul blue.

oftentimes, darling, oftentimes—
i covet all the sugar in the jar,
all the gold my mum stored,
while furiously daydreams
of how sweet and fair
i would be.

(oh, the avarice, the inebriating pleonexia.)

yet come to think of it—wouldn't i
be one teller of untruths, to my
own and the crowd, for i offer
them heartlessly made rainbows
in exchange for glory? no, that is
not—and should not be—me.

my brainchildren—they were born
to be knights against the demons
banging the walls of my head,
the antidote to the head and
heartache suffocating me.

even further, i can't let go
of the true pleasure of
humming to the tone of
experimentals, the sudden
light in my head, and the
crowd questioning them—
my brainchildren.

hence i solemnly swear—
to stay unfeigned, even with
thousand blemishes in every
crevice—and thrive till the
end of the line.

(i am me, and so be it.)
i often feel bad about my works, i often feel that i should stop doing this, i often feel that i want to be seen or i lacked recognition, i often doubt my purpose of writing. i still feel that kind of feelings. but the thing is, i will continue to write from my heart, and for myself—for this is one of the things that keep me alive.
Marii Dec 2018
And then she realised that
All stories die with the people who made them...

What a devastating truth to know that so many wonderful stories lie between the dust of had-been peoples.
Sophie Dec 2018
There is no great mystery to life.
We do not all have some greater purpose
Or some all important place in this world.
Some of us are just here.

This huge pressure of making a difference,
The gnawing need to make an impact,
To not be forgotten when we turn to dust
Is an all consuming anxiety

There is no riddle to the beating of your heart,
No conspiracy to the air in your lungs,
You are breathing, your heart is beating, and you exist.
Sometimes that is all there is to it

We are not all destined for greatness
And the realisation that we are one of the many,
Is more horrifying than any else.
Only when I paint
Does my grip loosen
I give my heart to it
And nothing is returned
That is my inner peace.
Works in progress for new illustrated handmade book about the life of painter  Vincent van Gogh and a correlation to my own journey
Munia Islam Oct 2018
It's starting to make much more sense now.

All the songs you sent at 1 am, the ones I never even bothered opening because I was too busy.

Your obsession with art that portrayed nothing but death and destruction.

Your jokes about killing yourself that we passed off as “ dark humour “.

You drifting away in your own world and us seeing that as just another one of your phases.

Your constant last minute change of plans and “ you guys go ahead. I don’t feel like it. “

All those times we asked you how you were and all those curt ‘I am fine’s that never made us ask further.

It all makes much more sense now.

Now that you’re gone.  

(M.I.)
Next page